


Trigger Warning

by Androids_in_Metropolis



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: 1980s, Coming Out, Depression, Gay, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male on Male, Non-Canon Relationship, Okay Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trigger Warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Androids_in_Metropolis/pseuds/Androids_in_Metropolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trigger Warning-The baths cold.<br/>Trigger warning-You're late.<br/>Trigger warning-Everything hurts. </p><p>Brian can't see straight anymore, and doesn't see the point in trying when no one is ever there for him. The simpilist things are trigger warnings now. Everything is a risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Please review and tell me what you think, and if I should do more:)
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> xxx  
> J
> 
> In honour of The Breakfast Club's anniversary.

Brian sat in front of the bathroom door, his hands shaking as he looked down at his legs. He had been in the shower and just wanted to know what it would be like to shave his legs. He never liked the hair on them any way, it itched and looked like a messy pile of feathers glued to his leg by some little kid. He hadn’t thought about the consequences of such a rogue act, such a show of defiance towards uniformity. His parents would find out, and if they didn’t on their own someone in school would find out and tell them. Maybe when he changed in the lockers (an embarrassing enough experience without the added bonus of sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the troves of hairy ape/men hybrids that ruled the roost) or when his pants got hiked up when running between classes. The options were numerous, and every single one was painful. 

Good, white, straight, Christian boys didn’t shave their legs. Good, white, Christian boys didn’t blush in boys’ locker rooms. Good, white boys didn’t wonder if there was really anyone looking out for them up above. The only thing on that list that he conformed to lately was ‘white’ and even that seemed to be turning into a bad thing-’You should go out more, you’re looking pale!’

Brian felt bile rising in his throat in anticipation for the punishments to come. Good boys should be good, and that’s that. If you couldn’t please your parents, and you did what you knew was wrong in the first place, you aren’t good. He knew they could see a lie or a false hope a thousand miles away. They just wanted to help him, but why did help hurt so much? Leaning over the the toilet he reched into the porcelain bowl, bringing nothing up. Laying his cheek on the edge of the seat he felt warm tears running down his cheeks-He was the worst son that ever was. He had to make up for it in school, he had to do well, and even that, his one defense, seemed so hard lately. 

Pulling himself to his feet he got dressed, making sure his pajama pants covered the vandalized limbs. Washing his face and pinching his arm he walked out to greet the music of a monday night. ‘How was school? Were there any tests?’ Fine, yeah. ‘So help me God, Brian, if you didn’t get an A you are out of this house before you have time to pack your bags!’ Don’t worry mom, I did good. 

These were the same types of questions that haunted him daily, and made his heart skip beats whenever there was a pop quiz. His report cards were perfect, and that’s the way they had to stay. He expertly deflected the questions about girls, friends, fashion, and style-What would he know about those thing? He nearly bit through his lip when his little sister said ‘I think Brian likes boys.’ When his mother asked her to explain, his father sending a glare his way, she did so more than willingly. ‘I mean, he’s a boy, so his friends are boys, right?’

The situation was swiftly diffused, but Brian could still feel his breath hitched somewhere inside his esophagus and it wasn’t coming back easy. Yes, Brian does like boys, but not like that. His thoughts were too loud-Surely they could hear them too. The thump thump thump of his heart in his ears as he excused himself, mumbling something about ‘Gotta study.’

\---------------------------  
Brian stood on the edge of the school roof, looking out over the grounds. He wouldn’t jump. He was too much of a wimp to jump. If he were strong he would jump. He wouldn’t be too scared to do it, he would make the right choice and end it all before they found out. No, he wasn’t that strong. They’d find out, he’d get in trouble, and then he’d move on to the rest of his pathetic life. He had time to waste-Years of it, as a matter of fact. Why couldn’t he waste it how he wanted to? 

He felt a cold hand sliding down his shoulder and looked up, realizing he was hugging himself by the edge of the roof. It was his own hand on his shoulder, the only hand that ever touched him in any way. His parents weren’t physical people, and it wasn’t like anyone else wanted to be near him. He looked down at the note in his hand again-’Brian is extremely bright, but I believe he needs help. He is showing signs of teen depression, perhaps brought on by stress over his workload. Please come in Saturday, 5pm to discuss this.’ 

The envelope his teacher had handed him hadn’t been sealed, and was addressed to his parents. He wished he had never opened it. He wished he didn’t know what they thought of him. His parents would be disappointed. He knew they would. He was weak to be unable to contend with his classes, and the extra stuff. His parents obviously expected it of him and yet he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do it. 

The flare gun in his locker was burning a hole in his mind. He knew it was there. He knew it would be easier than jumping-Then you had time to think, time to regret. With a gun all you have to do is pull the trigger, right?

Trigger warning. That was a phrase he understood too well-Once it’s pulled, it’s over. 

Pocketing the note he went back to the first floor to wait for his mother to pick him up on her way home from work. 

\--------

They sat around the dining table, his fathering holding the note and looking at him. ‘Brian, are you happy?’ he asked, serious. You don’t ask someone you believe to be happy if they are happy in that manner. You would laugh it off. You would hide the ridiculousness of such a question behind smiles. Yeah, dad, course I am.

‘You know, we want you to be happy.’ It was a statement, a rule. It wasn’t a question-How can we make you happy. It was just another rule-You must be happy. He added it to the list of rules you must have. The ever growing list of Trigger Warnings. Don’t look down, you might be flying. 

Yeah, dad, I know.

\--------------

Brain was at the counselor’s. Even after all the assurance, his teacher wanted him to go. He could feel angry tears in his eyes as he waited for his turn to be grilled and then sent away, leaving someone feeling like they helped. Was his act to unconvincing? 

‘Brian, please come here. I’m ready to talk to you now.’

\---------------

He shaved his legs again. His mum’s rasor always carefully cleaned and put back on it’s stand. He liked the way it felt, the way his legs rubbed together under the sheets and felt so soft. It didn’t affect his studying, and wonder of wonders, no one found out...or if they knew, no one told. It was his dirty secret, just another little thing to molder in the back of his mind with the other things no one knew about him. Along with all the movies that should have been about the girl, but all he could see was a toned 6 pack and pretty clothes. Along with the lamp he couldn't make. Along with the nagging in the back of his throat that someone thing was wrong with him. 

He prayed, he went to church. He begged for signs, signs that he wasn’t crazy. He studied, and made good grades. He ate dinner with his family, helped clean his little sisters room, and fiddled around with the car with his father. He did everything right, and it wouldn’t go away. 

Trigger warning-The paper arrived an hour late.

Trigger warning-You missed a question and guessed. You were right, but you still guessed.

Trigger warning-You missed your chance. 

\------------------

He cried himself to sleep. It had become a ritual now, hiding his head in the pillow and screaming himself hoarse. Why couldn’t he get away from himself? Something was wrong with him, something big. He needed to be able to get out of this...this place he was stuck in. It was worse that school, it was worse than home. It followed him everywhere like a black cloud hovering over his head, waiting for the ‘bang’ and then the lights out to announce itself. 

He made a date, and made a plan. Right before the semi finals, so he wouldn’t have a chance to disappoint his family. It would be so easy, and the gun in his locker was the only way out. He knew he would flunk, he just knew it. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the material, he knew it backwards and forwards and inside out. It was that he didn’t trust himself, not after shop. He had messed up big time...he couldn’t do it again. He had understood what they wanted in Shop, but his hands just wouldn’t make it happen. What if it was spreading? What if it was the same with all the other subjects after that? 

Getting his things together for one last day he said good bye to his family, taking his brown bag and blowing a kiss to his mother at the door. He didn’t feel as liberated as he hoped he wouldn't, knowing he wouldn’t have to live up to anything any more. He wouldn't have to live at all. 

He got to school early, setting his things carefully in his locker and getting out the flare gun. It was pleasantly heavy in his hands, and made him want to press his fingers against the cool metal. It was the most real thing he had touched in months, like the only thing that was real any more. He took it out to the back of the school after carefully locking his locker, and as one last and final act of defiance he reset the code-000. They’d have a hard time getting it now. 

He didn’t see the kid in a dirty flannel shirt smoking on the curb, and didn’t hear him as he got up and walked over as Brian raised the gun to his head. He hadn’t been able to decide between head or mouth, and didn’t know where to find out, so he chose the one shown in the movies. He only noticed his company when a hand was pressde firmly on his shoulder, forcing him to lower the gun. ‘Come on now, let’s not do that.’ 

Brian turned around and saw a familiar face-Bender. He understood, even if he pretended not to. He got it, and soon he poured everything out to him, telling him all the other things mouldering and festering and going to seed. All the thing no one knew. 

‘I’m here for you.’


End file.
